The Way You Do
by Trinity Everett
Summary: "I was trying to make you coffee for this stupid made up holiday," Beckett grumbles, sliding out of his arms and giving the offending espresso machine another accusatory glare. "It's not exactly working, though, because your fancy machine hates me " A Season 5 ficlet. Caskett. For "National Boyfriend Day."


**The Way You Do**

**For "National Boyfriend Day"**

**A Season 5 Ficlet**

* * *

The sound of clattering pots, frustrated curses, and the hiss of steam all greet him when he steps into his loft, giving him pause that he hasn't walked into another one of his mother's soirees. But no, Hurricane Martha is nowhere to be seen. Instead of a redhead creating chaos, the culprit flicks long caramel hair over her shoulder and glares at the espresso machine on the counter.

"Come _on_," she chides, her eyes never leaving the machine. "Why won't you just work for me?"

There's a kitchen counter somewhere underneath the two dozen coffee mugs, making him wonder exactly how long she's been at this - whatever it is she's trying to accomplish.

"Beckett?" he asks as she reaches for yet another mug and shoves it under the steam wand. "Just me, hey," he adds when she jumps, holding out a hand in assurance.

She releases the mug, spinning on her heel. "Castle. Hey. I-" she stumbles, taking in the mess and pulling her lip between her teeth. "I'll clean this up, don't worry."

"Who's worried?" His lips lift. Whatever it is she's doing - attempting to do - she looks adorable. Adorable and a little bit sheepish.

"Don't laugh," she warns, allowing him to draw her near, allowing the delicate press of his mouth to hers.

Rick grins against her lips. "I'm not laughing. I am a little surprised to see you redecorating my kitchen in coffee house chic, but I'm not totally opposed; I could get behind it as a theme," he says, dodging her swatting hand.

"I was _trying_ to make you coffee for this stupid made up holiday," Beckett grumbles, sliding out of his arms and giving the offending espresso machine another accusatory glare. "It's not exactly working, though, because your fancy machine hates me just as much as the one at the precinct does."

Warmth floods his chest. Every look, every touch, every gesture - big and small; she surprises him a little more every day.

"Which holiday?" he asks, trying to figure out what they could've been celebrating today. "Because I thought National Coffee Day was last-"

"National Boyfriend Day," she interrupts, biting her lip. He sees her cheeks darken and it's all he can do not to beam. "It's National Boyfriend Day, apparently, and I _thought_ I would be able to make you a stupid cup of coffee. I should've stuck with the regular coffee maker," she laments, looking over the assortment of half-filled mugs. "I'm sorry. It was a silly-"

"No," he cuts her off, dusting his lips to her temple. The thought alone is enough to send a zing of delight down his spine; Kate Beckett wanted to celebrate National Boyfriend Day with _him_. She wanted to do something special for _him_. "I love it."

"You'd probably love it more if you got coffee at the end," Beckett sighs. To punctuate her point, she lifts two of the mugs and moves to the sink to pour them out.

"I do have coffee, though," he argues, stopping her before she can dispose of more of her experiments. "You didn't just make me one coffee, Kate, you made me a dozen, at least."

She snorts a laugh, attempting to take another mug from his hand. "Trust me, you don't want to drink these. Nobody should drink these."

He lifts one to his lips, determined to prove her wrong, to give her some measure of assurance that he appreciates the gesture just as much as he would love the result.

His face must give him away because Beckett groans and hides her own face behind a hand.

"It's awful, I know."

"It's no-"

"Castle," she snaps. "I'm a big girl. You don't have to sugar coat it for me."

"There's no sugar left to coat it with," he quips, "it's all in the coffee."

Beckett makes a noise of disgust. "Ugh. Throw it out."

He's delicate about discarding the rest of the mug, but he does it without further argument. He doesn't protest either when she moves to the sink with the rest of her attempts and dumps them down the drain with an unceremonious flick of the wrist. Together they make quick work of loading the mugs into the dishwasher.

"I'm sorry," Beckett says again once the dishwasher is running, leaning against the counter top.

"For trying to make me coffee for - in your words - a stupid made up holiday?" Castle asks, cocking his head. "Never be sorry about that."

She exhales, dropping her forehead to his shoulder. "It was supposed to be something nice, but it just ended up being a disaster."

"Not a disaster," he insists. "Just… not as successful as expected."

Skeptical eyes lift to meet his.

"I mean it. A disaster would've been if something had exploded while you were trying to froth the milk, or if we'd clogged the sink pouring some of the sludgier attempts down the drain. Or if the machine had spewed espresso grounds everywhere mid-brew."

This time he gets a tiny quirk of her lips. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience, Castle."

"No comment."

She grins, lifting onto her toes and brushing her lips over his chin. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better."

Rick dips his head, catching her before she can retreat. His mouth slides over hers, lips parting as she presses closer. "Thanks for trying to make me coffee," he says, coming back for another kiss, a little needier than the first.

Her hands frame his waist, fingers tightening in his shirt. "Will you teach me?"

"Hmm?" he asks, ready to draw her away from the kitchen counter and show her his gratitude in other ways and in other parts of his home.

"How to make it the way you do," Beckett says. Her hand splays across his back. "Will you teach me?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Yes, absolutely. Just…" he pauses to cup her cheek in his palm. He lifts her chin, meeting her eyes and letting her see the urgency in his gaze, "maybe later?"

Her head bobs in agreement. "Later's good," she breathes, catching his mouth again. Her tongue slides over his lower lip, insistent. "Later's very good."

* * *

_Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet._


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